Hard Duties
by Jedi Buttercup
Summary: The day after her dad checked out of the hospital, Lucy McClane dug through her purse for the business card she'd been given four years before.
1. A Thing About Duty

**Title**: A Thing About Duty 

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: K+

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.

**Summary**: B:tVS, Die Hard 4. _The day after her dad checked out of the hospital, Lucy dug through her purse for the business card she'd been given four years before_. 300 words.

**Notes**: Spoilers for B:tVS post-"Chosen" and "Live Free and Die Hard" (2007). Challenge fic.

* * *

The day after her dad checked out of the hospital, Lucy dug through her purse for the business card she'd been given four years before.

The number still worked, though a machine picked up at the other end instead of a person. "Hi. Ms. Lehane? It's Lucy," she announced after the beep. "I know you must be wondering why I'm calling after so long." She paused. "It's like this. I know I told you before that my last name was Genarro. I've been going by that since my parents got divorced, but my legal name is still Lucy McClane. Yeah, like the guy who's been in the news the last few days. I'm his daughter."

She sighed. "See, after Mom ditched him, I kind of decided that my Dad was an asshole and that I wanted no part of him. But after this week-- it turns out I'm a little more like him than I thought. And that's not necessarily a bad thing. Except, he kind of has this thing about duty-- he always says, if he doesn't do it, who else will? And-- it got me thinking.

"How many people have died because I told you no? What if I could have saved my Dad before he got shot, if I'd taken you up on that offer of training? Being super strong isn't worth shit if you don't know what to do with it, and-- I don't think I can just sit on this any more.

"So, sign me up. Slayer McClane, reporting for duty-- just tell me where to go." She took a deep breath, then added her phone number and hung up.

Her Dad would definitely kill her when he found out, of course. But she thought he might be a little bit proud of her, too.

(fin)


	2. A Watcher's Duty

**Title**: A Watcher's Duty

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T (Not quite M-ish for language)

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not. I claim nothing but the plot.

**Summary**: B:tVS, Die Hard 4. _This wasn't John McClane's first trip on the merry-go-round_. 1100 words.

**Spoilers**: B:tVS vaguely post-"Chosen"; "Live Free and Die Hard" (2007)

**Notes**: Challenge fic. Set in the same 'verse as "A Thing About Duty" and my 10 Things Buffy drabble "Never Bonded with the Boys in Blue".

* * *

John McClane ran a shaky hand over his bald scalp, catching his breath-- just for a second, not like he really needed it-- before grunting and heaving himself back to his feet.

"Damn, those 'suckers hit hard," he groaned, rubbing at his bruised ribs.

"Dad? Daddy, are you okay?" Footsteps pounded up the path from deeper in the cemetery and his daughter appeared in front of him: ponytail whipping in the mild night breeze, stake clutched at the ready, eyes wide with distress.

He dropped his hand and summoned up a pained, but hopefully reassuring, smile. "I'm fine, Luce, don't worry about me. I got him. You caught all the others?"

"All four vampires," she confirmed, lowering the stake and tucking it away in a pocket. She pulled a gold medallion on a long chain from her coat as she approached, and handed it over with a flourish. "And one ugly thing with horns. The oldest vamp had this on him. I think it's the necklace that went missing last week when that museum was broken into. You sure you're fine? That sounded like it hurt."

John waved her concern away. "Sure looks old enough," he said, weighing the heavy piece in his hand. "Have Matt look it up later, make sure it's the right one before we turn it over."

Lucy's expression soured a little at the mention of her boyfriend's name. John didn't know what was up with them lately-- he'd been trying very hard _not_ to know, in fact, lest the urge to pound on the kid interfere with their working relationship-- but it was hard to miss the little signs of disenchantment that had been cropping up more and more often.

"What? What's with the look?" he prompted her, tucking the medallion away. "You want me to talk to him about it instead? I can ask him tomorrow; FBI's still got us on that hacker-taskforce thing."

She shrugged her shoulders, sliding her hands in her coat pockets against the chill late autumn air. "No, no, it's fine; I'll talk to him tonight. It's just--" She huffed a breath. "Doesn't it bother you at all? That you're the one out here backing me up? You're like twice his age! I know they let you guys work with me because they're short on experienced Watchers, but Dad, you've been in the hospital once this year already--"

John cut her off with a shake of his head. "Is that what the problem is?" he snorted. "Look, Luce-- they offered to place you with one of their guys. Younger than Matt, even, just out of Watcher Boot Camp."

"But they told me--" Lucy objected, eyebrows pulling together in forewarning of a McClane temper outburst to come.

"They told you that 'cause I asked 'em to," he replied, holding his roughened palms up in a placating gesture. All the belligerent young punks and fresh-raised vampires in the world had nothing on his daughter when she really got going. He'd been hoping to avoid this conversation entirely, but-- well, time to man up and admit it.

"C'mon. If I'd just told you I wanted to go with you when you went Slaying, what would you have said?" he asked, mildly.

"You're not indestructible, Dad!" she hissed, reaching out to poke him in the side. "Are you out of your mind?"

He winced as her superpowered fingers hit one of his bruises, but refused to give. "Exactly. So I told 'em they didn't have that choice."

"But _why_?" she asked, looking baffled. "What, you don't trust me with them? But-- even if that was the reason-- look, I know Matt's not the strongest guy out there, but he's been taking martial arts since his knee healed. He could do this, I know he could."

"What, and leave me with the research?" John snorted. "Look. D'you remember what you said to me in that warehouse, after Matt and I took out Gabriel and his goons?"

Lucy paled at that; the memories of the Fire Sale still haunted her nightmares, he'd bet. Not the first time his kids had been caught up in one of John's disasters, but the first time she'd come so close to dying. It featured pretty frequently in his nightmares, too.

"Yeah, I remember," she said, calming. "I said-- I knew you'd come for me."

"I'll _always_ come for you," he agreed, firmly. "What, did you think I'd actually let you do this Slayer thing without me? I told that Giles guy to his face-- _Lucy goes out there without me over my dead body_. If it hadn't been for that girl of his-- what's her name, Buffy? Don't know what her mother was thinking-- I don't think he'd have listened, but she got what I was saying."

He took a breath, then continued. "I heard them tell you how dangerous this is. How most Slayers run into something they can't handle sooner or later, even on a 'routine' patrol. Usually sooner rather than later. What am I supposed to tell your mother when that happens?"

"Dad--" She swallowed, looking stricken.

He shook his head. "Doesn't matter how old I am, baby; I'll be out here fighting beside you just as long as I can. It's my _job_ to defend you from the bad guys."

Lucy smiled a little at that, lopsidedly, but there was a suspicious shine in her eyes. "And Matt?"

Damn; did he really have to talk about this? But he couldn't let her keep thinking badly of the kid because of one of his decisions. John rolled his eyes. "You know as well as I do this ain't my first trip on the merry-go-round. You think I'm going to let the kid out on the streets before he can defend himself properly?"

Before she could open her mouth, he wagged a finger over the objection he knew was coming. "And that kung-fu shit doesn't count."

She made a frustrated noise, then smiled again, more genuinely this time. "So, basically-- blame you for everything?"

"Wouldn't be the first time." He smiled back, relieved to have reached the end of the conversation without emotional bloodshed, then dug his keys out of his pocket. "So. You wanna drive us back?"

"Really?" Her eyes brightened; she'd been jealous of his new car.

"I won't even back seat drive," he teased, waggling the keys.

"Sold." Lucy threw her arms around him in a careful hug, then hesitated, murmuring quietly into his shirt. "I love you, Daddy."

"I know, baby," he replied, tightening his arms around her. "I know."

-x-


	3. Substitute Duties

**Title**: Substitute Duties

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: A:tS, Die Hard 4. _Lucy would never forgive him if John interrupted her and Matt's first weekend free in god knew how long._ 2000 words.

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not.

**Spoilers**: A:tVS post-"Not Fade Away"; "Live Free and Die Hard" (2007)

**Notes**: For a TTHFFA challenge. Follows "A Watcher's Duty".

* * *

John sighed, wincing at the pull on his black-and-blue ribs as he fished in his pocket for his car keys. It had been a long day- a very long, very _boring_ day- spent following Ferrell and a team of FBI agents along a cyber crime trail, with nothing much to show at the end of it. Thank god it was Friday; with no urgently pressing leads for the task force and the paranormal upsurge of the full moon behind them, he and the kids had a quiet weekend ahead of them for once.

He frowned as his fingers encountered an unexpected shape- and realized, abruptly, that the weight he'd assumed was his keys when he left the station was something else altogether. This wasn't the jacket he usually wore to work, it was the one he'd had on the night before- the one he'd had to dust grass off of that morning.

"Damn it," he muttered, pulling the probably-stolen medallion from its hiding place and weighing it in his palm. Lucy had said she'd take the thing to Matt to research what exactly it was and what the demons they'd been fighting had planned to do with it, but he'd stuck the gaudy thing in a pocket during their argument after the dust fell and forgot all about it. Then he'd left it there all day at work, missing the opportunity to hand it over to Matt himself.

Lucy would never forgive him if he interrupted her and Matt's first weekend free in god knew how long- and personally, he'd rather keep existing in complete denial of what exactly they got up to when they were alone together. It didn't matter that Lucy could bend the kid into a pretzel all on her own if he crossed a line with her; she was still John's little girl, and until Matt stuck a ring on her finger- _if_ he ever did- it was better for the continued health and sanity of all involved if he paid as little attention as possible.

That left him with just one alternative, unless he wanted to hang onto it all weekend. And he didn't. All that magic crap made him goddamn uncomfortable. It would be just his luck if the thing turned out to be the key ingredient in some spell or apocalypse or other, set to turn his apartment into magical ground zero if he hung onto it instead of turning it over to the experts.

It had surprised him, actually, that Matt was so much more comfortable with that kind of thing than he was, even considering the kid's familiarity with all that online World of Whatever gaming garbage. Pixels didn't bite back. Magic _did_, and it was dangerous enough to scare even _John_. According to Matt, though, spells were 'ethereal programs that hacked the intangible laws of the universe', whatever that meant, which made it all easier for him to get a mental handle on.

Whatever. As long as he kept John supplied with the information they needed to keep Lucy alive, John could deal. And in cases where Matt's research skills weren't enough- or when, as today, Matt happened to be unavailable- the Council had pointed them to another resource he could use. The spokeswitch for their borough made the hair stand up on the backs of his arms, but that was better than keeping the medallion in his pocket all weekend long, primed for god-knew-what.

He sighed, bracing a hand on the hood of his car, and leaned forward until his forehead met cool metal. Then he straightened and strode off toward the nearest staircase out of the parking garage. The coven's headquarters was close enough to hoof it if he didn't strain himself, and he could detour through the station on his way back to find his keys- wherever he'd managed to lose them over the course of a fidgety afternoon.

"Ain't your first trip on the merry-go-round," he muttered as he fumed his way over to the address in question. The Council-owned building had been a house once upon a time, not too high in the instep but not rock-bottom rent either, and gave off a kind of genteel aura of decay. Unassuming. Inoffensive. It raised his hackles, just looking at it, knowing what kinds of things went on behind that façade.

"Don't be a bigot, John," he sighed, then trudged up the front steps. His own daughter was just as deadly- and as well-intentioned- as most of the people living in that crazy supernatural world. It was just that so many of those he'd met had scorned John's badge before he could even open his mouth, and it bothered him, knowing that so much power rested in hostile, often immature, hands. It didn't matter what they looked like, or what their ancestry was; what mattered was whether they would be _that guy_ in a pinch, or turn into obstacles for John to trip over. He really didn't want to face the end of the world some holiday soon and find himself under a barrage of _spell_fire from what was supposed to be his own side.

John shook his head, then reached for the doorknob. It turned easily under his hand; the security spells still recognized him, despite the several weeks that had passed since he'd last stopped by.

An optimistic bunch, the Council. He sighed and went inside.

The usual teenage kid wasn't at the desk in the entryway, though; John's brow furrowed as he took in the taller, much older form bent over something intricate and mechanical that looked like it ought to come out of the guts of a space-age car. John could hear the tramp of hasty young feet overhead in the big room the two local Slayers used for training, so he was pretty sure Caitlyn and little Ashley were still around, but he couldn't smell the cloying fragrance the old witch wore, and he'd _never_ seen an adult male in the place other than himself, Matt, or one of the girls' relatives. That didn't bode well.

"S'cuse me?" he said, bringing himself to the strange guy's attention.

From the unhurried way the dark-haired head lifted, and the cool look of disinterest in the guy's steel-blue eyes, he'd already known John was there but had simply not found him interesting enough to acknowledge. "Yes. Can I help you?" he asked, in a British accent softened by time in the States.

John's nostrils flared, but he tamped down on his temper. Just because he rubbed him the wrong way at first glance didn't mean the guy was suspicious. "Yeah, is Erma Lea in?" he asked.

"Do you have an appointment?" the other man said, ducking an answer.

John blew out an irritable breath. "If I had a damn appointment, would I be asking?" he replied, cataloguing the stranger a little more closely as he stood behind the desk. The guy was wearing slacks and one of those casual/dressy shirts that washed clean easily and didn't wrinkle under a leather jacket; his shoes were the kind you could run in, and there was a distinct and unmistakable bulge where John would have concealed a gun in that outfit.

John's hand automatically drifted toward his own weapon, almost without thinking about it- but only _almost_, as he caught himself catching the _other_ guy making similar movements. Casually, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, deliberately backing down the danger in his stance a little; and almost as though they were connected by string, the stranger's shoulders fractionally eased. Cop, soldier, criminal- whatever the guy was, he'd seen serious action.

"I'm afraid Ms. Burr is not in," he said mildly, in response to John's query.

John gnawed the inside of his cheek a little as he considered that. "Not in, as in stepped out to run to the grocer's? Or not in, as in come back next week?" The more he considered the man behind the desk, the more he leaned toward the latter; if Erma Lea had business elsewhere, it _would_ make sense for the Council to have sent someone to watch over the place while she was gone. The organization's membership _had_ run to Brits before the headquarters had been blown up, or so he'd heard.

"Not in, as in she's taken seriously ill, I'm afraid. Might I ask what this is about?"

Still mild, but with a razor edge of threat somewhere behind the polite posturing. John approved, as aggravated as he was by the blockading tactics. "Had some official business for her. Some kind of artifact my daughter came across on her patrol last night," he said, explaining just enough that the guy would twig if he were in the know but not enough to spook him if he wasn't.

From the way his eyebrows flew up and his stance relaxed, the answer was: definitely in the know.

"Ah! You must be Ms. McClane's father; my apologies. Ms. Burr's description was rather vague. I'm Wesley Wyndham-Price; I was brought in to consult on a remedy when she was struck with a malignant spell last week, and I've been assigned to watch the House until she recovers."

Price, Price; the name was throwing up some kind of flag in the back of John's brain, but he couldn't quite put his thumb on it. He was obviously a Watcher, though, with that talk about _spells_, so John grudgingly unbent enough to take the man's outstretched hand and shake it. "Pleasure," he said, brusquely. "Any idea how long that'll be?"

"Some days at least; perhaps a few weeks," Price replied. "It was very close. I do have some small knowledge of her fields of expertise, however; if you'd care to show me the artefact in question...?"

"Sure," John shrugged in response, tugging the medallion out of his pocket. Why the hell not? Better any hands other than John's; and how Price handled it would give John a better picture of his capabilities, too. Good to know, if Lucy was going to spend any time here while he was in the city.

He'd already learned that the gun was no affectation: the calluses on Price's palm didn't lie. Which was unusual, for a magic-slinging scholar. Lucy had said most Slayers and Watchers avoided guns in favor of melee weapons and crossbows: partly because bullets tended not to affect supernatural enemies the way they would human ones, and partly so vampires wouldn't start getting ideas about using them in return. The main exception she'd mentioned, after his last lecture about self-defense, had been one of the chief Slayers' ex-Watchers. The younger one had joined an independent demon-hunting group after the Council had fired him, and his name had been-

John froze mid-pass, holding tight to the medallion's chain as Price gripped the heavy gold pendant. "Wait a minute. Aren't you supposed to be dead? Lucy said she heard you went down in that big blowout in L.A. back in '04."

Price winced visibly at that, though he didn't seem upset or embarrassed. More- haunted, as though John's question had unearthed an unpleasant memory. "Yes, well. As it happens, there was some dispute over my contract," he said, dryly.

He left it at that. John was pretty damn curious about what _contracts_ had to do with him not being dead, but knew better than to press past that expression. He'd seen that look in his own mirror, once or twice. "If you say so," he shrugged, then unclasped his fingers.

Price frowned at him for a long moment, then shook his head and held the medallion up, tilting it from side to side under the overhead light.

A guy who picked his battles carefully, knew his weaponry, and knew esoteric shit, too; why hadn't John met him sooner? _This_ was a Watcher he could deal with: one who might be 'that guy'.

Maybe there was more company for his dinosaur ass in Lucy's world than he'd thought.

-x-


End file.
